


(Don't) Touch Me

by DeathBelle



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Haphephobia, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-13 11:35:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9121696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeathBelle/pseuds/DeathBelle
Summary: Akaashi has always had an aversion to human contact, but earlier in his life it had been bearable. It isn't until his last year of high school that it becomes intolerable. By the time he enters college, any skin contact has the potential to send him spiraling into a breathtaking panic attack.He reconnects with Bokuto in college, and he seems to be the only person with the ability to calm Akaashi down. He finds himself relying on his old captain more and more, especially when Bokuto deems himself Akaashi's own personal guardian. Despite their connection, he can't touch Bokuto, either; no matter how badly he'd like to.~~~Bokuto shoved the man back a step, brows slanted into a terrifying scowl. "You touched Akaashi," he said, the words heavy and full of poison. "No one touches Akaashi."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, Haikyuu fandom. I hope you will accept my first offering.
> 
> This is one of my favorite fics I've written, in content if not in style. I got particularly emotional while writing it, especially in the upcoming chapters. If you have any feedback at all please let me know. I'd love to hear your thoughts.

Akaashi has always had an aversion to human contact, but earlier in his life it had been bearable. He’d attended family gatherings, suffering through tight hugs and wet cheek kisses and his younger cousins clinging to his legs. It had been uncomfortable, but manageable.

It was in his last year of high school that the problem had intensified. He didn’t know exactly why, and he didn’t really like to think about it. 

He still played volleyball, though he’d turned down the opportunity to be captain. Everyone had been surprised, but it seemed the obvious choice to Akaashi. He knew he couldn’t lead the team as well as Bokuto-san, and he hadn’t cared to try. He was best as a vice-captain and that was the role he maintained. 

It was a gradual progression. He would sit in the back row of his classes, watching the other students interact, wincing every time one of his classmates slapped one another on the back or elbowed one another in the ribs. The receiving party never appeared offended. They always laughed it off or shrugged it away and appeared wholly unbothered. 

Akaashi just didn’t understand.

Once he went up to the roof during his free period, just to get some air. A couple had already staked out the area, however, and Akaashi was frozen in the doorway, staring with a sense of building horror and revulsion. They were fitted together like a puzzle, cradled in each other’s arms, bodies touching from shoulder to ankle, mouths pressed together so tightly that Akaashi didn’t know how they were breathing. 

He slipped away before they noticed him. He retreated to the bathroom on shaky legs and locked himself in one of the stalls, leaning against the wall spattered with graffiti, trying to figure out why he felt like his lungs were too small to function. His breaths were too shallow and it took a solid ten minutes for him to get himself back under control. 

He stumbled out of the stall and stared at himself in the mirror. His forehead was damp from cold sweat, his face pale, even his lips. He pressed a finger against his lower lip and imagined someone else’s mouth touching his. He cringed and his stomach rolled, and for a second he thought he was going to heave into the sink.

After a moment he stifled the reaction and left the bathroom, walking aimlessly through the halls, trying to get his mind off of it. It was impossible though, and he was left with a hollow feeling of inadequacy. 

Something was wrong with him, and it was worse than he wanted to admit.

Still, he managed to keep it together. It was easy enough to avoid people, because he’d never gone out of his way to socialize, anyway. The hardest part was volleyball club, but that was okay most of the time, too. He was the setter. The only thing he had to touch was the ball. There was a very rare chance of anyone running into him, and usually if they did, he’d already noticed they were coming and could duck out of the way.

Everything was fine until a practice just before the Spring Tournament. They’d ran drills and Akaashi had practiced so many spikes with their new ace (who would never be close to Bokuto’s level of skill) that his wrists were weak. His fingers shook, and he curled them into his palms. When he did that his entire fists shook from exertion, so he dropped his hands to his sides and hoped they would regain strength by morning.

He took a quick shower in the locker room, soaking in steam and the amiable chatter of his teammates. He dried and wrapped a towel around his hips, stepping out to retrieve his gym bag.

He bent slightly to dig through the bag, not paying particular attention to his surroundings. 

He was comfortable there, among his teammates. More than he should have been.

Akaashi grabbed his underwear from the bottom of the bag, and before he could stand upright to pull them on, an arm draped across his shoulders.

“Good practice today, Aka-”

Akaashi would’ve yelled if his throat hadn’t constricted. He jerked away from the touch and stumbled over his own feet, his back slamming into the lockers as he whirled to face the threat. 

Onaga’s arm dropped loosely to his side. His face had gone blank with surprise. “Umm… Akaashi-san?”

Akaashi’s heart was beating so rapidly against his chest that he expected it to burst at any moment. It felt like a line of fire had been lit across the back of his shoulders, where Onaga had touched him. His breathing was doing that thing again, where it was so fast that he could hardly keep up.

“Don’t,” he choked out. He clutched onto his towel with one hand. The other was curled into a fist, nails digging into flesh. 

Some of his other teammates had stopped to watch, but Akaashi didn’t see them. He saw hardly anything. 

“I’m sorry, Akaashi-san,” said Onaga. He was clearly still confused. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Akaashi shook his head. Water dripped down the sides of his neck. “Don’t touch me,” he said, voice strangled. 

Onaga held up his hands, palms-out, as if in surrender. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “Did I do something wrong? I know I messed up a couple of times in practice but I wasn’t that bad, was I?”

He thought Akaashi was angry at him. That made a burning coal of guilt settle in the pit of his stomach, but he hardly noticed. He was too busy trying to breathe. 

“Akaashi-san?” One of the first years took a few steps closer. “Are you alright?”

Akaashi didn’t answer. He couldn’t spare enough air to speak.

The first year took another step, and then another, slowly reaching out to Akaashi. 

“Don’t _touch_ me!” Akaashi shouted, flinching away from the hand as if it was venomous. 

The first year flinched and backed away. 

Akaashi grabbed his bag and retreated, bare feet slapping against the floor as he half-jogged to the other end of the room. He felt his teammates staring, but that was fine. Stares weren’t tangible. They could stare all they wanted, as long as they didn’t come closer.

He dropped his bag in the floor and sat on a bench. He hunched over with his head in his hands, fingers curled into his hair and nails digging into his scalp. He tried to breathe in deeply, but his lungs wouldn’t cooperate. There just didn’t seem to be enough air, and he thought he might suffocate. Burning tears squeezed from the corners of his eyes, carving scalding trails across his skin. 

None of his teammates approached him, and gradually he began to calm down. He wasn’t sure how long it had taken, but by the time he returned to his senses, he was alone. They hadn’t waited for him, hadn’t gone to get the coach, hadn’t realized how completely Akaashi’s sanity was crumbling around his feet. 

That was fine, though. At least they hadn’t touched him again.

He dressed slowly, in no particular rush to get home. There was nothing waiting for him there. He would have dinner with his parents and then go up to his room, where he would sit alone for the rest of the night and think about how fucked up he was. 

Akaashi thought back to the year before, when he’d often gone out with his third-year teammates after practice. They’d go to get ramen or stop by the convenience store or even visit a nearby park, where Bokuto would challenge them to competitions to see who could swing the highest and then pout when he lost. 

They had been his friends. He’d enjoyed their company, and even when Bokuto had occasionally slapped his shoulder in badly contained excitement, Akaashi hadn’t minded too much. 

Back then he certainly would never have been hurled into a full-blown panic attack just because someone touched him.

Akaashi didn’t really know what had changed, or when he’d gotten this bad. He needed to do something about it. He wasn’t stupid enough to think the problem would just go away. 

He didn’t know how to deal with it, though, and asking someone was out of the question. Akaashi didn’t want anyone to pity him. He didn’t want them to think that he was too fragile to handle his problems on his own. 

It wouldn’t go away, but he could deal with it. He had to deal with it, whatever _it_ was. He just had to be more careful. He couldn’t let his guard down anymore, even among his team. 

Although, the team likely wouldn’t be a problem now, anyway. After freaking out like that, he doubted they would even want to speak to him again. 

Honestly, he couldn’t blame them. He wouldn’t want to speak to himself, either.

The practices leading up to the tournament and the tournament itself was an awkward affair. Akaashi’s teammates kept their distance and no one ever mentioned the locker room incident, but it was clear that something among them had shifted. Their plays weren’t quite in sync anymore. On the court, Onaga was so concerned with keeping a wide distance between Akaashi and himself that he missed more spikes than he connected. 

They lost in the first round, and badly. 

No one said it was Akaashi’s fault, but he knew, anyway.

  
  
College was better, at first. Akaashi got an off-campus apartment instead of a roommate, willing to make the long walk rather than live in close proximity to a stranger. The university was bigger, so there was less danger of someone walking into him on his way to class. He got the chance to walk from building to building, getting fresh air between classes rather than being trapped inside the same slim hallway for hours at a time. 

His first semester came and went without incident. Akaashi thought that he might get through college and get a decent job and live a fairly normal life.

Then he walked into the first class of his second semester, and those plans shattered.

“Akaashi?”

He paused just inside the doorway, startled a little by the sound of his name, but more so by the voice in which it was spoken.

A second later Bokuto popped up out of a desk. He tripped his way to the front of the room, slipping between the other students who loudly socialized, waiting for class to begin.

“Akaashi!” he said again, grin widening and eyes sparkling. 

He rushed toward him, arms extended, and Akaashi’s stomach dropped.

He stumbled back, holding one hand out in front of him.

Bokuto halted his advance, and Akaashi forced himself to breathe.

“What are you doing here?” said Bokuto, unbothered by Akaashi’s rejection. “I didn’t know you even went to school here!”

Akaashi frowned at him, then glanced at the other students. None of them were paying any attention whatsoever to the mini-Fukurodani reunion happening in front of the door. 

“Am I in the right place?” said Akaashi, though he knew he’d triple-checked the room number. “This is statistics, right?”

“Right!”

“It’s a freshman-level class,” said Akaashi. “Why are you here?”

Bokuto deflated a little. His eyes dropped and he rubbed at the back of his neck. “Oh. Well, uh, I might’ve kind of not done so well last year. I have to take it over.” He peered up at Akaashi, as if waiting for him to laugh. “I’m not great at math, you know?”

Akaashi couldn’t help but smile a little. It was something he didn’t do very often. He’d never thought he would actually be happy to see Bokuto, but something about it was comforting. Despite his quirks and lack of volume control, Bokuto had always been a good friend.

Friendship was something that Akaashi hadn’t experienced in a while.

“Don’t worry about it, Bokuto-san,” he said, shrugging his bag higher on his shoulder. “You’re good at other things. Your English vocabulary is surprisingly advanced.”

Bokuto grinned as if Akaashi had just banished every ounce of self-doubt. “Thanks, Akaashi! It’s so awesome we have a class together! Hey, come sit with me. There’s an empty desk next to mine.”

He reached for Akaashi, probably to grab his sleeve and pull him along. It was something that he used to do in high school, something that hadn’t bothered Akaashi all that much.

Akaashi flinched away, his back hitting the doorframe. 

Bokuto tilted his head, puzzled. Then he shrugged off the behavior and pointed toward the opposite side of the room. “I’m sitting right over here, come on!”

Then he mingled back into the maze of desks, leaving Akaashi to do as he liked.

Of course he followed him. 

Akaashi couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t followed him. 

  
  
Things were fine, for a while. The two of them settled back into an easy friendship. Bokuto would text Akaashi when he was bored, call him when he was drunk, and insist that they have lunch together at least three times a week. Eventually, as Bokuto imminently started falling behind in class, Akaashi starting helping him with his homework.

They developed a routine. Akaashi was grateful to have his friend back, but at the same time it made his anxiety about three times as bad as usual.

Bokuto was a very animated individual. He spoke with his voice and his face and his hands, and he had no reservations whatsoever about physical contact. During the first couple of weeks, he reached for Akaashi more times than he could count. He would go to sling an arm across his shoulders as they walked, or reach for the sleeve of his jacket, or move to grab his shoulder.

Akaashi flinched away each time he suspected Bokuto was about to touch him, and though his nerves were scraped thin from constantly waiting for Bokuto to move toward him, he managed to avoid contact.

Bokuto didn’t seem to make the connection, at first. He would raise his eyebrows at Akaashi when he ducked away from him, or ask if he was okay, or laugh if it made Akaashi stumble over his own feet. 

After a while, though, he seemed to realize the problem. His attempts to reach out became fewer and fewer, spattered intermittently among their interactions. About a month in, Bokuto was actually catching himself before he reached out for Akaashi. He would start to move, then realize what he was doing and fold his arms, keeping his hands safely to himself.

Neither of them mentioned it, but Akaashi had never been so grateful to anyone in his entire life. 

The first time he saw Bokuto physically restrain himself from touching him, Akaashi went home and cried, overwhelmed with relief. 

Their friendship didn’t suffer as a result of Akaashi’s problems, and it was maybe the first time since high school that he felt somewhat normal. When he was with Bokuto he didn’t have to worry about his issues. He didn’t have to be completely on-guard all the time. He could relax a little, and it was the first time he’d been at ease with anyone since he could remember.

Bokuto still slipped. Once, about two months into the semester, he’d touched Akaashi’s arm while they were studying advanced equations. Akaashi had nearly fallen out of his chair in his haste to put distance between them, and Bokuto apologized so many times that it was past midnight before they finished the homework. 

Akaashi told him it was okay, although it really wasn’t. He knew Bokuto hadn’t done it intentionally, anyway. All the same, he’d been on edge for about a week, waiting for Bokuto to do it again, but he never had. Bokuto was even more careful than usual, keeping his arms folded when they walked or sitting on his hands when they did homework together. Akaashi found himself relaxing again.

One day Akaashi was walking across campus by himself when Bokuto’s voice called after him, more loudly than necessary. Akaashi turned to find Bokuto running up to him, a familiar face following behind at a more normal pace.

“Hello, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi greeted. He looked over Bokuto’s shoulder. “Hello, Kuroo-san. Good to see you.”

“Hey hey, Akaashi!” said Kuroo. “I haven’t seen you since high school!” 

Kuroo nudged his way past Bokuto and raised an arm, probably intending to slap Akaashi on the shoulder or engage in some other form of physical greeting.

Before Akaashi could even back away, Bokuto had grabbed Kuroo’s wrist and wrenched his arm back down.

“No, dude,” he said, sidling between the two of them. “Don’t touch Akaashi. He doesn’t like it.”

Kuroo raised a skeptical eyebrow at him and then peered around at Akaashi, who had stopped breathing. He shrugged once. “Okay then.”

Just like that, Kuroo became the second person that Akaashi didn’t have to be so tense around. Occasionally he would have dinner with the two of them, and while Akaashi often watched Bokuto fidget, Kuroo never even came close to reaching toward him. He talked to Akaashi like they were old friends, and he supposed they were. They’d always gotten along in high school, despite the rivalry of their schools. 

The only discomfiting thing about spending time with both Bokuto and Kuroo was that Akaashi had to watch the two of them interact, and they were both very physical individuals. They would take turns pushing each other off the sidewalk, or messing up each other’s hair, or walking with their arms slung across each other’s shoulders, laughing at their own stupid jokes. 

Akaashi always walked calmly beside them, watching with something that may have been envy. It was so easy for them, so comfortable. Back in high school he’d been on the receiving end of that physical attention, and though he hadn’t thrived on it, he’d been able to bear it.

He didn’t know what had gone wrong, why he’d gotten worse.

Despite the new presence of Kuroo, most of the time that Akaashi spent with Bokuto consisted only of the two of them. It was strange that they were both so acutely aware of Akaashi’s problem, but neither ever addressed it. Bokuto never asked what was wrong with him. He just accepted that something existed, some barrier between Akaashi and the rest of the world. Instead of becoming suspicious and asking questions and criticizing, Bokuto simply accepted it. 

Akaashi thought maybe he loved him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was painful to write. That's your warning, and I apologize in advance.

Life was going okay for Akaashi; at least, as well as could be expected.

So of course something had to go wrong.

It was Akaashi’s fault, really. He should have known better.

One day after class Akaashi and Bokuto met up with Kuroo at an on-campus café. Kuroo dragged Kenma along, and Akaashi was pleased to see him. He got along with Kenma well. It actually made more sense for the two of them to be friends than for Akaashi to bond so well with Bokuto. Kenma was quiet and withdrawn, and Akaashi had never seen him invade anyone’s personal space. 

“This guy in my calculus class is having a party this weekend,” said Kuroo. He nudged Kenma, indicating that he should look away from his phone and pay attention. “His parents have a house here and they’re letting him use it. You guys should come.”

Bokuto jumped on the offer instantly. “Hell yeah! I’m in.”

Kuroo tilted his head at Kenma, who shrugged without looking up. “I don’t like parties.”

“Come on, Kenma. You haven’t gone to a party with me in ages!”

“Yes,” agreed Kenma, “because I don’t like parties.”

Kuroo heaved a dramatic sigh and slouched onto the table, chin propped on his hand. His sharp eyes found Akaashi next. “What about you, ‘Kaashi?”

Akaashi took a sip of his coffee. “What about me?”

“Are you going to come?”

Akaashi blinked at him and then looked to Bokuto, who seemed to be waiting for his answer, as well.

“Umm. No?”

“Come on, you should give it a chance. I think a little alcohol would do you some good. It’ll mellow you out.”

Tension rippled through Akaashi’s shoulders. Kuroo hadn’t said anything offensive, but it was the closest he’d come to mentioning Akaashi’s problem. 

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” said Akaashi quietly. “I don’t do well with people.”

“You don’t even have to talk to anyone,” said Kuroo, although surely he was aware that talking wasn’t the problem. For Kenma, maybe, but not Akaashi. “You’ll be with us. Me and Bokuto will have your back. Right, Bo?”

Bokuto nodded eagerly, wide eyes fixed on Akaashi.

Akaashi looked between them, trying to figure out if it was some sort of trap. Kenma still hadn’t looked away from his phone and Akaashi doubted if he was even listening to the conversation. 

There was no reason for him to go to a party. It was the exact opposite of what he should do. There would be people there, and though he didn’t know how many would be in attendance, he was certain it would be more than he was entirely comfortable with. It was stupid for him to go. He wasn’t fun. He didn’t know how to be fun.

But Bokuto was looking at him brightly, hopefully, as if waiting for Akaashi to accept. 

And after everything that Bokuto had done for him, Akaashi didn’t want to disappoint him.

“Okay,” he murmured, regretting the word as soon as it tumbled from his lips. “I’ll go.”

  
  
  
It wasn’t so bad at first. There was a moderate amount of people there, wandering around with plastic cups and too-loud laughter. Kuroo introduced the guy hosting the party, and when he tried to shake Akaashi’s hand, Bokuto stepped between them and started talking about something so off-topic that Akaashi couldn’t help but smile.

There were drinks, and although Akaashi had very limited experience with alcohol, he found himself with a cup in his hand only moments after walking through the door. He drank it slowly, nose scrunching with each gulp. It wasn’t appetizing. He wasn’t certain why people liked to drink so much.

Bokuto and Kuroo threw back drinks three times as quickly as Akaashi, and before long their laughter was so loud that he feared he would burst an eardrum. 

The two of them mingled with the other party guests. Kuroo seemed to know most of them already, and Bokuto had never had any trouble making friends. He was vibrant and expressive and charismatic, so it was unsurprising that people were drawn to him.

The surprising part was that he was friends with Akaashi at all. 

Someone asked Bokuto for the third time if he wanted to go upstairs, which Akaashi had decided from conversational context meant that he was invited to go smoke weed with them on the second floor. Again he declined, leaning back against the wall, saying he’d rather stay where he was. He slid a grin toward Akaashi, and it was probably supposed to be friendly, but it made Akaashi’s stomach sink.

Bokuto didn’t want to leave him alone, and it was appreciated, but it also made Akaashi feel that he was holding him back. Bokuto seemed to be having an okay time, but he could’ve been doing more if he wasn’t anchored to Akaashi. 

He should’ve just stayed home.

“I need to use the bathroom,” said Akaashi. He said it quietly, but Bokuto still heard. 

“Okay, yeah. Here, I’ll hold your drink.” 

Akaashi passed it to him. It was still halfway full. 

He stuck to the edges of the room, not willing to brave the mass of people collected in the middle that was swelling as the night wore on. He dodged a giggling couple and ducked through the doorway that led to the hall. It was vacant, and he breathed a little easier. 

He stared at his reflection while washing his hands, examining the light flush that colored his face. It must have been from the alcohol. He rubbed the back of his hand against his cheek and it felt warm to the touch.

He ran his hands beneath the cold water again and stared down at them.

Akaashi honestly couldn’t remember the last time he’d intentionally touched someone. His life had become a constant cycle of avoidance and evasion. It was easier that way, because then he didn’t have to think about the root of the problem. It was easier because he could almost pretend everything would be okay, especially now that he had Bokuto back. He found himself thinking that he could have a normal life, because he had friends. He didn’t need anything more than that. He was fine.

But sometimes when he looked at Bokuto and got that lurching feeling in his stomach that had nothing to do with anxiety, he realized he was lying to himself.

He could live this way, sure. It was difficult, but not impossible.

He could live, but he couldn’t be happy, not really.

He longed for the days when he could reach out and shove Bokuto away from him when he became too annoying, or yank on the edge of Bokuto’s shirt to get his attention. Things like that had come so easily, then. 

Now he couldn’t even bear the thought.

He dried his hands on the towel hanging near the door and emerged back into the hallway. He was going to return to Bokuto and tell him he was leaving. That would be best for both of them. Akaashi could go home to his apartment, his safe haven, and Bokuto could have fun without being held back by his freak of a friend. 

Akaashi shouldn’t have agreed to come in the first place.

He made it back into the open area where most of the partygoers had congregated. In his absence, it appeared that a significant portion of them had decided to start dancing in the middle of the floor. Well, Akaashi assumed they were trying to dance. Most of them were so intoxicated that they were basically just writhing around or rubbing themselves against one another. There was a lot of skin rubbing against skin and Akaashi shuddered.

He looked away and found Bokuto waiting exactly where Akaashi had left him, a drink in each hand. His head was thrown back in a burst of laughter, and Kuroo was laughing right along with him.

Akaashi smiled a little. They were idiots, both of them. But he was so fond of them that he couldn’t stand it.

He started toward them, and he was so intent on reaching them that he didn’t notice the guy staggering in his direction. Akaashi caught a glimpse of him from the corner of his eye and tried to dodge him. He would’ve likely been successful if the guy had been sober. As it were, his inebriation made his movements unpredictable, and he lurched in the opposite way that Akaashi had expected.

They collided, and the guy’s heavy frame sent Akaashi reeling. He fell on his ass, legs sprawling, grabbing onto his shoulder where the impact had happened. His chest started tightening and he fought against the taut metal wires that encircled his ribs and restricted his breath. 

“Sorry, sorry,” the guy said, regaining his balance with a laugh. “Didn’t see you there, dude. Here.” He offered his hand to pull Akaashi to his feet. 

Akaashi cringed, scooting a few feet across the floor to get away from him.

The guy laughed. “No, I’m trying to help you. Hang on.” He took an unsteady step closer, bent over, and seized Akaashi’s wrist.

Akaashi yanked his arm back, but the guy didn’t loosen his grip. 

He was still touching him, and he couldn’t get away, and _he was still touching him_.

The stutter of his heart kicked into overdrive, pounding a menacing staccato rhythm that fluttered in Akaashi’s chest like a panicked canary. His lungs weren’t working, not even a little. He opened his mouth to suck in a breath, but there was no air waiting for him. He choked, and the wires around his chest cinched more tightly than he’d ever felt them, and his wrist felt like it was wreathed in flames.

He couldn’t breathe. He was going to pass out, and then any of these people could touch him and he wouldn’t be able to escape. He couldn’t breathe, and he couldn’t move, and he was going to _die_.

Akaashi’s vision flashed black. When he blinked, his wrist was cradled against his chest, again under his own control. The guy was on the ground with his arms thrown protectively over his face. Bokuto stood over him, and as Akaashi watched, he slammed a kick into the prone man’s ribs. 

Through the static in his ears, Akaashi heard broken fragments of Bokuto’s voice.

“—‘Kaashi, you – even thinking – look at – piece of shit – touch him – _don’t ever touch him_ \--”

“Akaashi.” 

That voice was closer. Akaashi turned his head to find Kuroo crouching a short distance away from him. “Are you alright?”

Akaashi wanted to answer, but when he tried to draw a breath, nothing happened. He clutched at his chest and doubled over, trying to coax his lungs into functioning. His wrist still burned, residual embers from the prolonged contact. 

“Akaashi? Shit. Bokuto… _Bokuto_!”

There was the sound of a scuffle, but it was muffled. The loudest sound was the frantic pounding of Akaashi’s own heart, magnified in his ears like the repetitive rap of a bird on a glass window. 

“Akaashi!” That voice broke through more clearly than Kuroo’s. “No, no, no. Akaashi, are you okay? What’s wrong? Look at me, Akaashi.”

He shook his head. He couldn’t. 

He dipped his head lower and pressed his forehead against his knees, still desperately trying to breathe.

“Are you okay? Shit, of course you’re not okay. What do you need? Should I call someone?”

Akaashi shook his head again, this time with more force. 

Akaashi wasn’t looking at him, so he didn’t see the desperate way that Bokuto kept reaching for him, only to snatch his hand back. He didn’t see how frustrated Bokuto was that he couldn’t do anything. He didn’t see Bokuto thread his fingers into his own hair and pull, just to keep himself from trying to touch Akaashi.

“I don’t know what to do. Akaashi, I don’t know what to do. You have to tell me, you gotta help me. Please, Akaashi.”

“I think he’s having a panic attack.” That was Kuroo again, calm, as always. “We need to get him outside. He’s trapped in here with all these people. He needs space.”

“Akaashi, let’s go outside,” said Bokuto, seizing on the solution immediately. “Come on, it’ll be better out there. Can you get up? Akaashi?”

Akaashi choked over the tiny bit of air that he managed to breathe and shook his head again. He couldn’t get up. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to get up. 

“What are we supposed to do? Kuroo… Kuroo, _don’t_!”

Akaashi’s face was still hidden in his knees, so he didn’t see it coming.

Kuroo scooped him off the floor and carried him to the front door.

For the first five seconds he was too shocked to realize what was happening. 

When he did, he burst into flame.

He thought he’d been incapable of moving, but he was wrong. He bucked in Kuroo’s grip, trying to twist free, to escape. Kuroo was practically jogging, the motion jostling him. Kuroo’s arms supported him beneath his knees and shoulders, and it was scalding. 

Distantly he heard Bokuto shouting, voice raised in words that he couldn’t comprehend. 

His vision faded again, but he didn’t lose any time. He was very aware of the moment when Kuroo dropped him onto the porch, and though he was free, the burning didn’t abate. He felt he was being burned at the stake, shrouded in flames, skin blistering. 

Kuroo stood above him, but he was blurry. Akaashi scrambled away from him, retreating as far as possible, stopping only when his back slammed into the railing of the porch. It hurt, but not as badly as his wrist or his back or his knees. He collapsed, physically and emotionally, curling into a ball as small as he could manage. 

He still couldn’t breathe. There was no oxygen. He was going to suffocate.

“You need to relax.” That was Kuroo, closer than Akaashi was comfortable with. 

He opened his mouth to tell him to get away, but the words turned to ash in his mouth. Only a croaking sound emerged, carried on a frail puff of air that was the only exhale he could manage.

“Get away from him,” Bokuto snapped, saying the words for him. He sounded angry, but his voice softened when he spoke again. “Akaashi, hey. You’re okay now, okay? We’re outside. There’s nobody else out here. Nobody’s going to bother you, all right?”

Akaashi’s fists squeezed more tightly. He felt the skin break as his nails pierced his palms.

“You’ve gotta breathe, ‘Kaashi.” Bokuto was trying to keep his voice calm, but his own desperation bled through. “Come on, you’ll be fine. I’m here for you, okay? I’ve got you. Nobody’s going to come near you, I promise. Just breathe, Akaashi. Please.”

He said it like it was so simple, like he’d never known what borderline suffocation felt like.

Still, Akaashi tried. He tried to breathe past the block in his throat, past the wires caging his chest, past the rapid dash of his heartbeat. 

It was impossible. There wasn’t enough air and he couldn’t do it and he was going to suffocate.

“Akaashi, please.” It was a plea. Bokuto was begging him. “Please breathe, please be okay. I don’t know how to help you. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I’m too stupid to help you, and I’m sorry, and I shouldn’t have brought you here, and I’m so, so sorry. Please, Akaashi, please be okay. I’ll do anything. Please.”

Akaashi realized he was shaking, badly. He clenched his fists more tightly and closed his eyes and tried to breathe.

Akaashi wasn’t aware of the progression of time, but he knew he’d been sitting there for a while. The cold night air soaked into him, taming the flames that licked across his skin. His breaths started coming in shallow pants, then gradually lengthened and deepened to the point where his lungs were no longer screaming from deprivation.

As soon as he could breathe, he started sobbing.

He wrapped his arms around his knees and buried his face and cried, the tears burning his face. 

He was so pathetic that he couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t even go to a party like a normal college student without making a scene. He couldn’t do anything like normal people. He was fucked up. He was so, so fucked up. 

Bokuto had been tolerating him, but he hadn’t known how bad it really was. Now he saw exactly how much of a disaster Akaashi was. He saw how hopeless he was. He would realize that he was wasting his time and his friendship. 

Akaashi shouldn’t have become friends with him to begin with. He knew this would happen. He knew it wouldn’t last.

He sobbed until he was too tired to cry anymore. He felt so drained, like someone had sucked all the energy out of him. His body was stiff, as if he hadn’t moved for a long time, and he probably hadn’t.

“Akaashi?” 

The voice was quiet, hesitant.

Akaashi raised his head and found Bokuto sitting a distance away, cross-legged on the painted planks of the porch. His hands were twisted together in his lap and he leaned toward Akaashi, golden eyes shining with concern. 

They were also shining with tears, Akaashi realized. Bokuto’s face was wet.

Akaashi sniffed and wiped his face with his sleeve. He uncurled a little and his stiff muscles protested. 

They were alone. Kuroo stood in the doorway with his back to them, pointedly giving them privacy while preventing anyone else from joining them.

Akaashi swallowed. “Bokuto-san. I’m sorry.” His voice was hoarse, broken.

For a moment Bokuto just stared at him. Then his face pinched and he made a choking sound. “Dammit, Akaashi,” he said, the words tight. “Why do you have to apologize for everything?”

“Stop it, Bo.” Kuroo spoke without turning around. “You’re not helping.”

“Fuck you,” he snapped back, startling Akaashi. “You’re the one who made it worse! You know he doesn’t like to be touched, and you _pick him up_? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Kuroo still didn’t move, didn’t look at them. “He needed to get out of the house.”

“Not like that!”

“What else did you expect me to do?” This time Kuroo shifted, sliding a glare over his shoulder. “I was trying to help him, Bo. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“But you fucking-”

“It’s fine.” Akaashi’s voice was a soft rasp, but Bokuto abandoned his biting comments to listen. “I’m fine. I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying you’re sorry!” said Bokuto, more harshly than he probably intended.

Akaashi was unaffected. Verbal attacks had never bothered him.

“This isn’t your fault,” continued Bokuto, more calmly. “It’s mine. And Kuroo’s. We’re so stupid, ‘Kaashi. I’m so stupid. I knew better than to ask you to come but I wanted to hang out with you and I thought it would be okay if I was here with you but I’m useless. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t do anything for you.”

“There was nothing you could’ve done,” said Akaashi. He braced himself against the porch rail and stood. He was unsteady, but he remained upright. His hands felt tight and he looked down at them. Dried blood was crusted in the lines of his palms.

Bokuto shot to his feet. “Are you okay?” he said, hovering a safe distance away. “Do you need anything?”

“No. I’m just going home. I’m sorry I ruined your night, Bokuto-san, Kuroo-san.”

This time Kuroo did turn around, but he didn’t get a chance to respond.

“Stop it!” said Bokuto. “Stop acting like that, like you’re a burden or something. We’re the ones who are shit. It’s our fault.” 

“Please stop yelling, Bokuto-san,” said Akaashi, his voice low. “I’ll see you in class on Monday.”

He shuffled toward the steps, keeping one hand on the rail for stability.

“Wait!” Bokuto started forward, but forced himself to a stop. “I’ll walk you home. You shouldn’t go by yourself.”

“I just want to be alone.”

“But-”

“Just let him go,” said Kuroo. 

Bokuto turned to him, betrayal written clearly into the lines of his face. 

“You sure you’re okay, ‘Kaashi?” asked Kuroo. He received a nod. “Hey, I’m sorry I carried you out here. I was just worried, you know? I didn’t know what else to do.”

Akaashi felt his throat tighten, but it wasn’t from panic. He thought maybe he was about to cry again. “It’s fine, Kuroo-san. Thank you for caring.”

He looked at Bokuto one last time, and he looked absolutely dejected. 

“Bye, Akaashi,” he whispered. 

When Akaashi reached the corner of the street, he heard the two of them arguing, the shouts echoing through the neighborhood. 

He made it home without incident. He let himself into his apartment, locked the door, and crumbled into the floor in a heap of sobs and shame and self-deprecation.

  
  
  
He didn’t go to school on Monday, and spent the day ignoring a flurry of texts from Bokuto.

He didn’t go Tuesday, either, and since he missed two days, he figured he should be consistent and miss the entire week.

The following Saturday there was an incident at a convenience store in which a woman innocently brushed up against him in the aisle and Akaashi was launched into a full-blown panic attack. It hit him out of nowhere and he couldn’t even begin to calm himself down. It was made worse by the people around him, who touched his arms and knees and shoulders to try and comfort him. He couldn’t speak, and there was no one there to tell them to back away.

The episode ended with an overnight stay in the hospital, a tentative diagnosis, and a referral to a local psychologist.

Akaashi shredded the referral and dropped out of school the following Monday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It gets less painful from here. I promise.


	3. Chapter 3

Akaashi thought if he stayed in his apartment, ignored his phone, and avoided everyone he’d spoken to in the past month (which consisted of three people), that everything would be fine. They would be worried at first, maybe, but they would forget quickly. They would likely realize how much easier life was without Akaashi there to inconvenience them at every turn.

It was best for everyone. 

Unfortunately, not everyone agreed with him.

Excluding the frequent buzz of his phone, which he refused to check, everything was peaceful until Friday. Akaashi started to think that this would be easier than he’d thought. He was on his couch with the TV on, but it was just providing background noise. He wasn’t actively watching it. He hadn’t been able to completely focus on anything for over a week.

His phone buzzed again, several bursts in rapid succession, indicating that he was receiving a call.

He didn’t move.

He was forced into motion, however, when there was an insistent rap on his door. 

Akaashi sat up with a jolt, eyes flying to the front door. He didn’t get up to answer it. They must have the wrong apartment. No one came to visit him. His mom knew his address but she was three cities away and he hadn’t talked to her in about three months anyway. 

There was a beat of silence and he almost relaxed, thinking they’d gone away.

Then the knock returned, louder, accompanied by a shout.

“Akaashi!”

He inhaled so hard that he almost choked. He stumbled off the couch and over to the door, closing one eye to peer through the peephole.

Bokuto was on the other side, scowling at the door as if it had personally wronged him.

He knocked again, knuckles rapping inches away from Akaashi’s face.

“Are you home? I need to talk to you. Why won’t you answer your phone?”

Akaashi pressed a palm against the door and took a breath. He should just ignore Bokuto. He would go away eventually, and probably wouldn’t come back again. That was what Akaashi had intended. It was for the best.

He peered out again, and Bokuto’s scowl gave way to wide-eyed concern.

“Come on, Akaashi. Are you okay? You haven’t been at school. I asked the professor and he said you dropped out but I know he was wrong. Are you sick or something? Do you need anything?”

Akaashi felt his resolve crack. He gripped the handle, almost opened the door, and then snatched his hand back like he’d been burned.

It was enough. The knob rattled and Bokuto said, surprised, “Akaashi? You are home! Open the door!”

Akaashi swallowed, braced himself, and did as requested.

As the door swung open Bokuto took a step back, creating distance. “Akaashi!” he said, unreasonably excited. “I haven’t seen you since…” He trailed off awkwardly, realizing that bringing up the party incident wasn’t a good way to begin the conversation. “What have you been doing? Why weren’t you in class? I took really good notes so you didn’t miss anything. I brought them to you, see?” He fidgeted with his bag, rifling through the mess of notebooks and loose papers within.

“It’s okay, Bokuto-san,” said Akaashi, sparing him the effort. “I don’t need them. The professor was right. I did drop out.”

Bokuto stalled with his hands still buried inside his bag. He looked up, so surprised that his expression was almost comical. “You… _what_? You can’t do that, Akaashi! You’re so smart! If one of us is dropping out it should be me. You’re way smarter than me.”

“It’s not about that,” said Akaashi. He shuffled in place, uncomfortable by the laser-sharp attention. “I just… don’t want to go anymore. I’ve applied for some jobs. The kind that let you work from home. I can just stay here and work and not have to worry about… stuff.”

Bokuto blinked at him, not comprehending. “But what about school?”

“I’m not going to school.”

He blinked again, owlishly. “But then you won’t graduate.”

“I know that, Bokuto-san. I’m not going to finish college. Not everyone does.”

“But you’re _smart_ ,” Bokuto stressed, as if that alone was enough to settle the confusion. “You were going to get your degree and work for a big bank and-”

“Well I’m not anymore.”

“But… why?”

Akaashi didn’t understand why he had to spell this out. It was obvious, and talking about it only made him feel worse.

“I don’t do well with people,” he said, the words sliding through his teeth. “I don’t want to be around them. I can make it like this, working from home. I don’t have to go to school or work in a bank. This is easier. This is best.”

“But… what about me?”

“What?”

“What about me?” Bokuto repeated, slapping a hand against his own chest. “It sounds like you’re planning to lock yourself up in here and never come out. So what am I supposed to do without you?”

He looked so despondent that Akaashi felt a curl of guilt twisting in his stomach. 

“Just do what you normally do, Bokuto-san.”

“But I… Dammit, Akaashi, will you stop calling me that?” he snapped, mood shifting so suddenly that Akaashi felt the sting of whiplash. “We’re not in high school anymore where age matters. You’re my best friend. You don’t have to call me –san, okay? I don’t like it.”

“Oh.” Akaashi didn’t know which surprised him more; the outburst about Bokuto’s name or the fact that he’d just referred to Akaashi as his best friend. Hadn’t Kuroo secured that title already? “I’m sorry. I didn’t know it bothered you.”

Bokuto wilted a little at the apology. “No, it’s okay. That’s not what I… I mean, that’s not what I want to talk about.” He shifted from foot to foot, restless. “You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to cut yourself off from the world like you don’t deserve to live in it. I made a mistake, and I’m sorry, but I promise I won’t let you down again, okay? I promise I’ll do better. Please come back to school.”

Bokuto was so genuine that it caused Akaashi physical pain.

“I can’t,” he said, the words lacking strength. “I already submitted the paperwork. I’m done, Bokuto-sa… Bokuto. I can’t go back.”

His face crumbled. He looked down at the floor, then at his bag, then down the empty hallway. “Oh.”

“I’m sorry.”

Bokuto whipped his head back. “Stop it. I’m the one who’s sorry. This is my fault.”

“No, it’s not.”

“But I-”

“Bokuto, please.”

He stopped complaining and looked up at Akaashi, face scrunched in disappointment. 

“This was my decision,” said Akaashi. “I did it because I wanted to.” _Because I had to_. “It had nothing to do with you.” _Except it kind of did_. “I don’t want you to feel sorry for me.” _Please stop making this harder than it already is_.

“Okay,” Bokuto finally said, surrendering. “If that’s what you want.” He sighed and stared at his feet. When he looked up, it was with a spark of hopefulness. “But we’ll still be friends, right? Like, you’ll still come hang out and stuff? But not at parties or anything, just like, to get dinner and coffee and stuff.”

“Is that what you want?”

Bokuto nodded eagerly. “Of course it is! You’re my best friend. You’re not allowed to become a complete hermit.”

There it was again, that phrase; _best friend_. Akaashi felt his mouth twitch with a tiny smile. “Okay. I’ll still help you with your homework too, if you want.”

Bokuto brightened like morning sunlight. “Really?”

“Sure, if that’s what you want.”

“Of course! I mean, obviously I need help with homework, so that’s great, but I just want you to hang out with me, ‘Kaashi. Don’t shut yourself away, okay? Do you know how much I’ve worried about you for the past couple weeks?”

Akaashi didn’t, but from the wounded expression on Bokuto’s face, he would guess a lot.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. As long as you’re okay.” Bokuto smiled again, and it almost banished the weariness lingering about his features. “So do you want to get dinner? We can go to that ramen place down the street. It’s usually mostly empty this time of day.”

Akaashi was suddenly reminded that he couldn’t quite remember the last time he had a proper meal. Actually, he couldn’t pinpoint the last time he’d stepped out of his apartment. It had been around four days probably, maybe five.

“Sure. Give me a minute to get changed.”

“Yes!” Bokuto raised a fist like he’d won a victory. “I’ll wait for you downstairs. I need to call Kuroo, he’s been worried about you, too.”

Before Akaashi could say anything more, he’d dashed down the hallway, tapping away at his phone. 

Akaashi closed the door and went to his room to search for clean clothes.

He wasn’t quite sure how to feel. Obviously he was pleased that Bokuto still wanted to spend time with him, but he was also equally confused about it. He didn’t know why Bokuto would waste his time with Akaashi. There was nothing for him to gain from it. It just didn’t make sense. 

It was, however, a huge relief just talking to him. Akaashi felt like a knot in his stomach had been slowly unwinding since he’d opened the door. He felt like he could breathe a little easier, like each moment bleeding into the next was less of a struggle.

It was nice, knowing that Bokuto had gone out of his way to check up on Akaashi, that he’d been concerned for him. Akaashi wouldn’t allow himself to think too far into it, though. It was nice now, but it wouldn’t last. Now that they weren’t forced to spend structured time together at the university the friendship would gradually wither, just as it had when Bokuto had left high school. They would go out a few times probably, and Bokuto would request help with his homework until he was finished with Statistics, but after that they would drift apart again. 

It was disheartening, but inevitable. 

Akaashi again told himself it was for the best.

  
  
  
A lot changed for Akaashi over the next three years, but his friendships did not.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Bokuto exclaimed, half-collapsing on the table. “How did you win _again_?”

“Hard work and perseverance,” said Akaashi with mock seriousness, prodding his friend with the end of his pool stick. “Get up. You’re not allowed to be on the tables.”

Bokuto stood upright with a groan. He scowled at the pool table as if he had a personal vendetta against the inanimate piece of furniture. “Fine. When Kuroo comes back he’s going to be my partner and Kenma will be yours and we’ll definitely win!”

“Sure,” said Akaashi with a shrug. He looked toward the corner, where Kenma sat absorbed in a game on his phone. Akaashi hadn’t seen him move in the past forty-five minutes. “If you can convince him to play.”

“He’ll play,” said Bokuto. “And he’ll lose, because he’ll be on the losing team with you.”

“Whatever you say, Bokuto.” 

“I’m going to find Kuroo,” he said, standing on his toes to scope out the interior of the bar. Kuroo had wandered off a few minutes before, mumbling something about the group of college kids who’d just come in. Akaashi assumed he’d found some willing individuals to flirt with. “And I need another beer. Want me to get you something, ‘Kaashi?”

“Would you get me another amaretto?”

“Got it. Be right back.”

He started toward the bar that sliced through the center of the floor, a fair distance away from their isolated corner. 

Akaashi spun the pool cue between his fingers and then bent back over the table to finish clearing the remaining balls. He popped the stick and the balls cracked together as one rolled neatly into the side pocket. 

He was good at pool. They’d played a lot over the past year, and Akaashi had gotten better than all of them.

A few years before, Akaashi would have balked at the idea of walking into a bar. He hadn’t exactly had the best of experiences with drunk people in the first place. He’d finally built up the courage to try, though, and Bokuto and Kuroo had chosen this one. It was popular but not packed. There was loud music, but it wasn’t deafening. Best of all, the game areas were tucked away in the back corners, away from the bulk of the revelers. They always played at this exact table, which was in the extreme corner of the bar, surrounded by walls on two sides. It was easy to avoid people that way. 

Sometimes they would arrive and the table was already taken, but that wasn’t usually much of a problem. Bokuto and Kuroo would sit nearby, staring intensely at the intruding individuals until their discomfort coaxed them into vacating the area. 

They wanted Akaashi to be comfortable, and most of the time he was.

On occasion, though, someone interfered with that comfort.

“Hey there.” A man rested his hip on the edge of the table, watching Akaashi line up a shot. There was a beer in his hand and a lazy smile on his face. “You playing all alone?”

Akaashi barely glanced up at him before refocusing on the game. “No. My friend went to get drinks.”

He took the shot, and the ball glided into the pocket.

The man whistled, the sound low. “You’re pretty good. I’ll get you a drink, if you want. What do you like?”

“No thanks,” said Akaashi. He eyed the table and spotted the next logical shot, but in order to take it he would have to circle to the other side of the table, where the man still hovered. He decided to abandon the already finished game instead. He propped the cue against the edge of the table and took a seat against the wall a few chairs away from Kenma, whose attention was still reserved for his phone.

He expected the man to get the hint and leave, but instead he orbited around the table, drawing closer. 

“I’m Touma,” he offered. “I’ve seen you here a couple times before.”

Akaashi looked up at him. He wondered if that was supposed to be a compliment. It just sounded sort of creepy. “I come here a lot,” he said, not offering his own name in exchange.

Touma was undeterred. He sat clumsily in the chair beside Akaashi, who could smell the alcohol on his breath from that proximity. He shifted to the side, putting a few more inches of space between them. 

“You look good,” Toumas said. “I mean, when you’re playing. Like, you look like you know what you’re doing.”

Akaashi raised an eyebrow at him. He wondered how much the guy had drank in order to make that sentence seem like a good idea.

He caught a glimpse of motion from the corner of his eye. He turned his head and found Kenma looking back at him. He’d unfurled from his curled up position, phone lowered. 

Akaashi shook his head. Kenma’s social anxiety was nearly as crippling as Akaashi’s aversion to human contact. He didn’t want Kenma to feel that he needed to do something about the creep beside him.

While he was looking away, Touma took the opportunity to slide his arm across the back of Akaashi’s chair. His sleeve brushed over Akaashi’s shoulders and he went rigid, breath catching in his throat. 

He swallowed around the first threads of panic and said, “Please don’t touch me.”

The man laughed and leaned closer. “Don’t worry,” he said, voice low in Akaashi’s ear. “You don’t have to be scared of me. I don’t bite. You know, unless you’re into that.”

His nose nudged against Akaashi’s earlobe. The wires tightened around Akaashi’s chest, constricting his lungs. 

And suddenly the man was gone, yanked bodily out of his chair and flung into the neighboring table. 

Akaashi’s view was obstructed by Bokuto’s back, creating a barrier between him and Touma.

“Woah, what the hell?” Touma said, scowling down at himself. He’d sloshed most of his beer onto his t-shirt. “The fuck is your problem?”

“You’re my fucking problem,” Bokuto spat. “Don’t touch Akaashi.” 

The man looked as if he was going to protest, but his offense faded as he took in Bokuto’s height and the muscular arms straining the sleeves of his shirt. Suddenly he didn’t seem to care so much that Bokuto had made him spill his drink. “Oh. Are you his boyfriend? I didn’t know.”

“No, I’m not his boyfriend.”

Touma blinked. “Then what’s the problem?”

“You touched Akaashi,” Bokuto said, too loudly. He planted a palm against Touma’s chest and shoved him back a couple more steps. “No one touches Akaashi.”

Several people around them had stopped to stare. They looked between the two of them and then over at Akaashi, who still sat stiffly against the wall.

Kuroo strolled over at a leisurely pace, eyeing the scene with something like amusement. He sidled in behind Bokuto and peered at Touma from over his friend’s shoulder. 

“Unless you like losing fights,” he said, “that’s your cue to leave, bro.”

Touma looked from him to Bokuto and then tried to get another glimpse of Akaashi, but his friends had formed an effective wall in front of him.

“Fine,” spat Touma, turning to retreat. “You guys are fuckin’ weird.”

“He called us _weird_ ,” Kuroo said dramatically. He slapped a hand against his chest and gripped his shirt. “My feelings, Bo. He hurt them.”

Bokuto ignored him. He dropped into the chair that had been forcefully vacated, sitting sideways to see Akaashi.

“Hey, you alright?”

Akaashi nodded. He realized how tightly his hands were curled into fists and tried to relax his fingers.

“’Kaashi, look at me.”

Slowly Akaashi raised his head to meet wide golden eyes. Bokuto was sitting close to him; very close. A couple of years before, the proximity alone would have sent him into a downward spiral. Now, though, he didn’t mind. He knew Bokuto wasn’t going to touch him, so it didn’t matter. His presence was actually a comfort.

“Are you really okay?” Bokuto pressed. “Can you breathe?”

Akaashi nodded. He could, though his breaths were shallow. It would take him a moment to get himself completely under control, but he could do it. It was within reach, especially with Bokuto there. It was always easier with Bokuto.

After a moment of quick, painful breaths, Akaashi said, “Thanks, Bo.”

The words were low and a little choked, but Bokuto beamed. “No problem. Sorry though, I shouldn’t have left you alone. You’re just too attractive for your own good.”

That made Akaashi laugh, breathlessly. 

“You ready to play another round?” asked Kuroo. He was propped against the edge of the table, watching them over the rim of his beer. 

Bokuto looked like he was going to protest, but Akaashi spoke first.

“Sure,” he said, voice slowly gaining strength. “Yeah, let’s play again.”

“I want Akaashi on my team,” Bokuto said quickly.

“I thought you wanted Kuroo,” said Akaashi.

“I changed my mind. You’re better than him, anyway. Kenma, you’re on Kuroo’s team since you both suck.”

Kenma peered up at them. “I’m only playing if I can be on Keiji’s team.”

“What?” said Kuroo, wounded. “I thought we were friends!”

“You’re the worst person to play with,” said Kenma, glancing down at his phone. “You get distracted and run off to flirt in the middle of a game. You deal with him, Kou. I want Keiji.”

“That’s fine,” said Akaashi. Bokuto made a sound of protest and Akaashi rolled his eyes. “That’s what you wanted to begin with anyway. We’ll swap teams for the next game.”

That perked Bokuto up considerably. He was out of his chair in an instant, grabbing the drinks that he’d abandoned on the corner of the pool table. He passed Akaashi a glass, holding it carefully from the top so Akaashi could take it from the bottom without touching his fingers. 

“I guess I can carry Kuroo through one game,” said Bokuto, taking a swig of his beer.

“You’re so full of shit,” Kuroo said with a crooked grin. “You suck at this game. If we win it’ll be because of me.”

“Shut up, Kuroo.”

“Both of you shut up,” said Kenma, his voice barely over a murmur, as always. “If I have to play then let’s get it over with.”

They fished the scattered balls out of the pockets and began racking them at the far end of the table. 

Akaashi watched them fondly and took a sip of his drink.

It had been three years, and they still weren’t bored with him.

He honestly didn’t know what he’d done to deserve any of them.


	4. Chapter 4

At first, Kuroo had come as a package deal with Bokuto. Whenever Akaashi spent time with Kuroo, it was never just the two of them. He was fine with it, too, especially following the party incident. For the next few months after that, Akaashi flinched every time Kuroo walked into the room. He knew Kuroo had been trying to help, but that didn’t stop him from remembering the mental agony of being bodily lifted.

Eventually those averse feelings faded. He found he could relax around Kuroo, and at some point he and Kuroo became friends even outside Bokuto’s sphere of influence. 

Being friends with Kuroo was nothing like being friends with Bokuto. The two of them had things in common, sure. They were both charismatic and outgoing and likeable. 

Whereas Bokuto embodied all of those things naturally, Akaashi often thought Kuroo intentionally presented himself in such a way. Beneath that façade, Kuroo was sly, and mischievous, and infinitely resourceful. On more than one occasion he tricked Akaashi into situations that he would have never knowingly agreed to, but though Akaashi was extremely out of his comfort zone, Kuroo never threw him to the wolves. He was always there, watching with calculating, assessing eyes. It was wise to be cautious around Kuroo, especially when he got that gleam in his eye that suggested he was planning something, but Akaashi wouldn’t have traded his friendship for anything.

Bokuto and Kuroo had been best friends since high school. The two of them typically got along splendidly. Akaashi had only witnessed a few major fights between them, and the subject of all those fights was Akaashi.

Because the way Kuroo treated Akaashi and the way Bokuto thought he should be treated didn’t always match up. 

On one memorable occasion, about six months after Akaashi had dropped out of college, Kuroo had coerced Akaashi into attending one of their university volleyball games.

Kuroo had been on the court with Bokuto, unable to supervise Akaashi, but he’d left him in Kenma’s less-than-capable hands. The evening had ended with Akaashi hyperventilating in a bathroom stall. Bokuto hadn’t even known Akaashi had come to the game, and when he’d found out what Kuroo had done he’d been furious.

Akaashi had witnessed Bokuto’s bouts of anger, but this one was the worst he’d seen. Bokuto had been so enraged that Akaashi could practically feel the heat of his anger from across the room as he yelled at Kuroo, who meekly took the scolding without argument. 

Kuroo and Kenma both said they were sorry, but Bokuto apologized twice as often and as earnestly on their behalf. He’d somehow convinced himself that it was mostly his fault, though Akaashi couldn’t understand how he had reached that conclusion. 

All the same, Bokuto hadn’t allowed Kuroo to be unsupervised around Akaashi for about a month afterward.

Akaashi felt like a child stuck in the middle of feuding parents, but he did appreciate Bokuto’s concern.

He wished he’d gotten to watch the rest of the game. They’d won, and Bokuto had performed brilliantly.

  
  
  
Bokuto was always protective over him, but that wasn’t what Akaashi appreciated most. 

Bokuto respected him. He somehow managed to look past Akaashi’s staggering problems and appreciate him as a person rather than a walking inconvenience. Bokuto had slipped up that one time in the library and touched his arm, but it was just the one time, years ago. It never happened again. He never even came close to touching Akaashi, even by accident. 

As time passed he gradually gravitated closer, until the two of them basically shared the same personal space. Bokuto would reach across Akaashi at the table to grab the salt, or snatch a book out of his hands when Akaashi wasn’t paying attention to him, or drape a blanket across him when Akaashi was falling asleep on Bokuto’s couch. He was always there, always close, but he never crossed the line into contact. 

He was the one person in Akaashi’s life that he could completely trust. It was a relief to be able to fully let his guard down, but it was also extremely frustrating.

Because all Akaashi wanted was to reach out and touch him.

The first time he had the urge to do so was in his apartment. They were on Akaashi’s couch, watching a cheesy horror film that Bokuto had insisted on seeing. They’d tossed popcorn at each other for the first twenty minutes of the movie, and Akaashi knew he would have to clean it up later, but he wasn’t concerned. 

They lounged on the couch in the low light, eyes alternating between the screen and each other. Bokuto had showered just before coming over and his hair was drooping in his face, tangling in his eyebrows and tickling his lashes.

Akaashi had a sudden, overwhelming urge to reach out and brush the hair out of his face. He was halfway across the couch when he realized what he was doing and he hastily retreated, mumbling an excuse about the bathroom as he fled. 

He stood in front of the bathroom mirror for too long, staring at his flustered, confused reflection, wondering what was wrong with him. 

Even before high school when the problem had escalated, he’d never _wanted_ to touch anyone. Contact was bearable, but he didn’t actively seek it, just endured. 

Now he couldn’t even endure and here he was, thinking about how Bokuto’s eyes reflected the flashes of the TV screen and how soft his hair probably was. 

He was confused, and more than a little scared, so he decided to do the best possible thing to fix the situation.

He chose to ignore it.

That worked for about two days. Then Bokuto noticed that Akaashi was behaving strangely and he automatically assumed he’d done something wrong and he begged Akaashi to forgive him for whatever unknown mistake he’d made.

It took Akaashi half an hour to convince Bokuto that nothing was wrong, and after that they mostly went back to normal. 

Except for the times when Akaashi would look at Bokuto for a second too long, or think a little too hard about the texture of his hair. These moments were infrequent at first, but as time passed the thoughts bounced around inside Akaashi’s head more and more often.

When he stopped denying that the thoughts existed, Akaashi realized what the problem was. 

He was attracted to Bokuto. 

It wasn’t all that surprising. Bokuto was great. He was perceptive and amicable and funny, not to mention aesthetically pleasing. 

If anyone else had fallen for Bokuto, it would have been expected.

But this was Akaashi, and he wasn’t allowed to do this.

Of course he knew he liked Bokuto. He always had, even in high school. It was innate knowledge, something that he’d never had to think about. It stung when he saw Bokuto with other people, which didn’t happen as often as Akaashi would have thought. He knew he had feelings for him, but that was it. The feelings existed, and that was the end of it. He’d never felt the need to do anything about it. He was incapable of doing anything about it. It wasn’t as if he could hold Bokuto’s hand, or push him up against the wall and kiss him. It wasn’t that easy. It wasn’t possible. 

But Akaashi found himself thinking about it more and more. 

One night when he got off in the shower to the thought of touching Bokuto’s chest, to the thought of actually _touching someone_ , he realized just how bad it had gotten.

He needed to do something.

  
  
  
The next day he went over to Bokuto’s place, which was also Kuroo’s place. They’d started rooming together halfway through college, and even when they had to find an apartment outside of campus, they hadn’t felt the need to change their living arrangement. 

Kuroo was at work when Akaashi arrived, which was good. He didn’t mind Kuroo’s presence, but he didn’t really want him around while he was trying to sort out all of his jumbled, confusing feelings, either.

When Bokuto opened the door it was clear that he’d just woken up. His hair was a mess, and he wore only boxers and a white t-shirt.

“Hey, ‘Kaashi,” he said, the greeting punctuated with a yawn. He stepped back to grant access to the apartment. 

“Good morning,” said Akaashi, trying not to stare as he stepped inside. He also tried not to think about the shower he’d taken the night before, during which Bokuto’s name may or may not have slipped out of his mouth at the peak of his orgasm. 

“I was gonna make some eggs. Want some?”

“Sure.”

Akaashi stood in the kitchen and watched Bokuto inexpertly prepare lunch. 

Technically it was lunch, but he was pretty sure it was Bokuto’s breakfast.

Bokuto’s palms were pressed against the counter as he waited for the pan to get hot. He was talking about Kenma, who would be graduating soon. They were planning a party for him, but Bokuto wanted to make sure it wouldn’t be awkward for Akaashi because he would have been graduating, too, if he hadn’t quit school.

Akaashi told him it was fine, barely hearing his own words. He was too focused on Bokuto’s hand, fingers slightly sprawled, the pinkie crooked from where he’d broken it a couple of years before.

It shouldn’t be so hard to reach out and touch him. This wasn’t just a random person. This was _Bokuto_. 

Bokuto would never hurt him. Bokuto was safe.

He could do this.

Bokuto was still talking, but Akaashi had completely stopped listening. He shuffled a subtle step closer, still looking at Bokuto’s hand. 

Slowly, he reached out, ignoring his own shaking, and grazed his fingertips across the edge of Bokuto’s hand.

Bokuto yanked his hand back like he’d been scalded. He stumbled over his own feet and caught himself on the edge of the counter, wide eyes finding Akaashi.

“I’m so sorry!” he said, the words bursting from his mouth too loudly. “I’m sorry, Akaashi, I didn’t mean to. Are you okay?”

Akaashi just stared at him. He was apologizing for nothing. There was no possible way that he could’ve done anything wrong even by accident. He’d literally been standing completely still.

It was ridiculous, and also a little endearing.

“No,” said Akaashi. “I mean, yeah, I’m fine. That wasn’t you. That was…” He trailed off and looked down at his hand, flexing his fingers. They tingled, but it was okay. He was okay. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Shut up,” said Akaashi, not unkindly. He stepped closer and Bokuto shrank back against the counter. Akaashi started to reach for him then hesitated, his trembling hand hanging between them.

Bokuto was staring at him like he’d gone insane, and maybe he had.

Akaashi swallowed. “Can I?” he asked, voice tight.

Bokuto’s exhale was audible. He nodded slowly, eyebrows pulled together. 

There was another second of hesitation, of Akaashi steeling himself. Then he extended his arm and brushed his fingers along the lean, muscled lines of Bokuto’s arm. 

His skin was soft but firm, and when he trailed his fingers to Bokuto’s forearm he felt the tickle of hairs against his fingertips.

He took his hand back and curled it into a loose fist. His fingers were buzzing with sensation, almost as if they were going numb. He clenched his fist tighter and then released it, taking a few steps back. 

“Sorry,” he said. He expected the word to be choked, air restricted by the wires looped around his chest. They were there, he felt them, but they weren’t tight enough to hurt him. He took a breath and it came with only a little struggle. 

Bokuto seemed to have lost the ability to function. He stayed pressed against the counter, body stiff, wide eyes following Akaashi. He looked like he was trying to figure out if he was hallucinating.

Akaashi breathed again, and it was easier. “So, umm.” He felt his face heating beneath Bokuto’s rapt attention. “The pan is probably hot enough now.”

Bokuto no longer seemed to be concerned with food. “Are you okay?” he asked in a whisper, as if a louder voice would startle him.

“I’m fine. I’m sorry, I just… just wanted to try something.”

Bokuto blinked several times, trying to comprehend that. 

“So… So are you…?”

“No,” said Akaashi, finally looking away. “I’m not… not _fixed_ , or anything. I’m just… I don’t know. Can we not talk about it? Later, but not… not now.”

“Uh, yeah, okay,” said Bokuto, agreeing despite the burning curiosity in his eyes. He peeled himself away from the counter and shuffled back to the eggs. “Just let me know when you’re ready, okay?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Bokuto.”

“Anything for you, ‘Kaashi.”

  
  
  
Bokuto did a good job of pretending the unsolicited touch had never happened, and Akaashi was grateful.

Two weeks later they were watching TV on the couch and Akaashi pressed his hand against Bokuto’s shoulder. When he pulled away, he curled up and pretended to watch the television. He felt Bokuto stare at him for a while, but eventually he started watching the movie again without comment.

One day when they went out to get dinner, Akaashi tugged on Bokuto’s sleeve to get his attention while they waited in line.

Bokuto fell asleep on his couch one night, and Akaashi carefully combed his fingers through his peaks of white hair, cherishing the texture against his skin. 

When they went out for their regular pool night, Akaashi paid more attention than usual to Kuroo, wondering if he was capable of touching him, too. He sidled up next to him, standing closer than usual, and thought about reaching out. 

Before his hand had even moved his breath felt shorter and he quickly stepped away.

It was just Bokuto, and Akaashi wasn’t surprised. It had always been just Bokuto, in more ways than this. 

After that he decided he needed to talk about it, whether he wanted to or not. It wasn’t fair to keep Bokuto in the dark. He owed him honesty at least, for everything he’d done.

He invited him over for dinner, which wasn’t uncommon. Bokuto lived with Kuroo, but he spent at least as much time with Akaashi as he did with his roommate. 

They ate together and Akaashi turned down Bokuto’s offer to clean up, as always. They migrated to the couch to pick out a movie, but Akaashi made no move to turn on the TV. He sat with his back against the arm of the couch, legs tucked beneath him, frowning at Bokuto, who slouched at the opposite end.

“Can we talk?” he said, the innocent words immediately changing the atmosphere.

Bokuto straightened, his post-dinner weariness abating. “Yeah, of course,” he said. He shifted to the side, pulling one of his legs onto the couch so he could face Akaashi. “What’s up?”

“I know I’ve been weird lately. I mean, weirder than usual,” he amended. He found he couldn’t look directly at Bokuto. It was like looking into the sun. Instead he dropped his gaze and picked absently at the leg of his pants. “And I’m sorry. I’ve just been going through some things.”

Bokuto nodded but didn’t say anything.

Akaashi sighed, trying to expel his anxiety with the breath. “I like you, Bokuto,” he said, the words falling from numb lips. “I’ve always liked you. But I couldn’t do anything about it, because I can’t have a relationship. Not a real one, not with… with everything. So I never said anything because it wasn’t fair to you, and it’s still not really fair to you, but I think telling you is the right thing to do. You’re my best friend and you deserve to know. I’m trying to do better, but it’s really hard, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to even kiss you or anything. And it’s really selfish of me to even say anything, but… but you should know,” he finished quietly, still staring down at his hands. 

The silence was heavy, but it only lasted for a moment.

“Really?” said Bokuto, his voice too bright for the sensitive conversation. “You like me?”

Akaashi glanced up to find Bokuto beaming at him. “Of course I do. How could I not? You’re the best person I’ve ever met.”

Bokuto’s smile faltered, but judging by the light flush that burst on his cheeks that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. “You should’ve told me! You know I don’t care about… about the _thing_ ,” he said, waving off Akaashi’s problem as if it truly was a non-issue. “I can’t believe you like me. Are you sure?”

Akaashi just stared at him. “Is this how you respond to a confession?”

Bokuto blinked a couple of times and shook his head. “No! I’m sorry, I’m just surprised. I didn’t think you would… I mean, you’re _Akaashi_ ,” he said, as if the name was sacred. “Of course I like _you_ , but I never thought you would like _me_.”

Akaashi’s breath caught, but not from anxiety. “You like me?”

“Well obviously,” said Bokuto. “You’re perfect.”

Bokuto sounded so genuine that Akaashi thought he might cry. He swallowed, hard, and opened his mouth to speak, but the words wouldn’t stitch together.

“I can’t believe you like me,” Bokuto repeated, amazed. His grin returned in full force. “So do you want to date then? I mean, we don’t have to do it officially if you don’t want to, but can I like take you out and stuff? Would that be okay? Can I tell Kuroo?”

Akaashi choked out a laugh. Then he remembered himself and the humor drained away. “You’re not really thinking this through,” he said, hating the way it made Bokuto’s smile drop. “I can’t be a good boyfriend for you. I can barely _touch_ you. I can’t even imagine, like, being close or holding you or having sex. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to do those things, Bo. You need to think about that.”

Bokuto studied him for a moment, brows pulled together in thought. “That’s okay,” he said, voice serious. “I don’t need those things. You make me happy just how you are, ‘Kaashi.”

This time Akaashi did cry, and it was a while before he could stop. 

He didn’t think he’d ever been so happy in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may or may not have cried at the end of this.
> 
> ...who am I kidding. I totally cried.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic has just been one big emotional disaster. Thanks for sticking with it. You guys are great.

“Come on in!” said Bokuto, throwing open the door to his apartment. “I just need to change real quick and we’ll go. I’ll be right back!”

He darted off without waiting for an answer, leaving Akaashi standing in the open doorway. With a sigh, Akaashi stepped through and pushed the door shut behind him.

He saw Kuroo’s head sticking over the back of the couch, his hair messier than usual. Akaashi approached and hesitated at the edge of the room. “Hey, Kuroo.”

Kuroo rolled his head to the side and grinned at him. “Yo, ‘Kaashi! It’s been a while.” He patted the cushion next to him in invitation.

Akaashi sat on the end of the couch, as far away as he could manage.

Kuroo was still grinning, unbothered. His feet were propped on the coffee table and there was a beer in his hand. Akaashi thought it was a little early to start drinking, but said nothing. 

“So you and Bo,” said Kuroo, his grin widening even further. “It’s about time, don’t you think?”

Akaashi looked down at his hands. He wasn’t sure where Kuroo was going with this.

“I mean, he’s been obsessed with you for years,” Kuroo continued. “Probably since we dragged you to that party that one time, remember? He didn’t talk to me for a week after that. I think it’s the first time in my life I’ve ever seen him ignore anyone.”

Akaashi kept staring at his hands, uncomfortable with the conversation. Of course he’d told Bokuto that it was okay to discuss their dating situation with Kuroo – Bokuto had a hard enough time keeping mundane secrets, much less something that impacted their lives so much. Akaashi still didn’t want to talk about it with Kuroo, though. Kuroo was too intuitive; he would pick up on all the potential issues with the relationship immediately. Akaashi had almost been afraid that Kuroo would try to talk Bokuto out of it, but it seemed that wasn’t the case.

“Hey.”

Reluctantly, Akaashi looked up. Kuroo wasn’t smiling anymore.

“This is good for him,” said Kuroo, suddenly serious. “You know that, right?”

Akaashi looked away again. “I guess so. I don’t know, I just worry about-”

“Yeah, I know,” said Kuroo. “And you shouldn’t. You know Bo’s had random hook-ups over the years. They were fine and all, but they never really made him happy. You’re the only one who’s ever done that. So don’t for a second think you’re not good enough, got it?”

That was the nicest thing Kuroo had ever said to him. 

Akaashi supposed he might as well finally forgive Kuroo for the party incident of three years before.

“Okay, I’m ready!” Bokuto announced, emerging from his room with a flourish. “Let’s go, ‘Kaashi. You sure you don’t want to come, Kuroo?”

Kuroo’s lazy smile returned. He sat back and took a drink of beer. “No, Bo. I don’t want to go on your date.”

Bokuto blinked, as if just realizing where he was going. “Oh. Right. Okay then, see you later!”

Later turned out to be the next day, because Bokuto ended up spending the night at Akaashi’s place.

That wasn’t anything new. The only novelty of the arrangement was that Akaashi didn’t sleep well because he felt guilty that Bokuto was on the couch. He couldn’t even sleep in the same bed as his new boyfriend.

  
  
  
A couple months later, he and Bokuto were at the movies. Kuroo had tagged along with a girl he’d recently started seeing, but he’d insisted on sitting on the opposite side of the theater to give Bokuto and Akaashi privacy. 

Akaashi knew it was really just because Kuroo was planning to make out with the girl through the entire film and didn’t want to make them uncomfortable.

Bokuto had picked seats near the front of the theater. He sat in the second chair so Akaashi could sit on the end, away from the other moviegoers. 

Bokuto had always done things like that. He’d always been considerate of Akaashi when no one else would’ve been. When Akaashi had said Bokuto was the best person he’d ever met, he hadn’t exaggerated.

They were sharing a large bucket of popcorn. Bokuto stuffed his face with abandon while Akaashi occasionally plucked out a piece or two, wiping buttery fingers on the legs of his jeans. 

The movie started dramatically, and Akaashi was so engrossed that he dipped his hand into the bucket when Bokuto had already dived in for another handful. Their hands touched and Akaashi snapped his head to the side to look at Bokuto, who mirrored the motion.

Bokuto withdrew his hand but Akaashi caught it and laced their fingers together, guiding their joined hands onto the armrest between them. 

Bokuto watched him for a moment, as if to make sure Akaashi was okay. Then he started shoveling popcorn into his wide grin with his other hand, content.

Akaashi forgot about the movie for a while. He was too hyper-focused on the sensation of skin against skin, a feeling that was practically foreign to him. Bokuto’s palm was soft and his fingers were warm, if not a little buttery. They fit together perfectly, wrists lightly brushing together. 

It lasted for about three minutes before Akaashi had to retract his hand, and Bokuto released his grip immediately. Akaashi looked at him, fearing some sort of disappointment, but Bokuto was grinning like he’d won a prize.

  
  
  
Akaashi got better at hand holding. He would sometimes do it without even thinking it through. They would be at a restaurant, sitting across from Kuroo and his date of the evening, and Akaashi would just reach over and take Bokuto’s hand. He was always rewarded with a wide grin that eased the tightness of his chest. 

It was clear that Bokuto enjoyed the contact, but he never initiated it, even when it became a common thing. They would hold hands walking down the sidewalk, or on the couch, or in between their turns on pool night. 

It was always Akaashi reaching out, but Bokuto was always there to accept him. 

  
  
  
The first day of winter was also the first snowstorm of the year. Bokuto and Akaashi had planned to go out for dinner, but the alarming rate at which the snow was falling prompted them into a change of plans. They grabbed takeout from a local ramen restaurant instead and rushed back to Bokuto’s apartment to eat. 

They were shivering when they arrived. Snow had stuck to their clothes and melted in their hair. Only part of Akaashi’s face was cold. Bokuto had forced his own scarf around Akaashi’s neck halfway home and it had protected him from some of the wind chill.

“Every year I forget how cold it gets,” said Bokuto. The words trembled a little through his lips. He wriggled out of his shoes and took the bag of food from Akaashi so he could do the same. “Ugh, it’s _freezing_!”

“We need a fireplace,” said Akaashi, fantasizing about how glorious the heat of real flames would feel on his numb fingers. 

“That’s perfect!” said Bokuto with a grin. “When we get a place together we’ll make sure it has one.”

He carried the food toward the kitchen as if he hadn’t said anything out of the ordinary. Akaashi stared after him, a flush rising to his cheeks that had nothing to do with the weather.

He smiled into Bokuto’s scarf before padding across the floor on socked feet. 

Before he stepped through to the kitchen, he paused. Dangling from the top of the doorway was a bundle of bushy green leaves dotted with white berries.

Akaashi stood with his head craned back, staring at it.

“Umm, Bokuto?”

“Yeah?”

“What is that?”

Bokuto turned away from the refrigerator to look at him. “Huh? Oh, that looks like… Oh.” He blinked. “Kuroo had someone over last night. He probably put it up. You know how cheesy he is sometimes.”

“Come here.”

Bokuto closed the fridge and wandered over. “What? Is something wrong with it? It’s probably fake, I don’t think he’d get real mistletoe. I don’t know where they even sell it.”

He was looking up at the leaves, but Akaashi was looking at him.

He reached out and gripped the front of Bokuto’s shirt in both of his hands. “Hold still.”

Bokuto blinked at him, clearly startled by the sudden intensity. “Okay?”

There was a fleeting moment, as Akaashi rose onto his toes and leaned close to Bokuto, that the wires cinched tight and the breath was choked from his lungs. He tightened his grip and fought it, fought everything within him that made him want to flee. 

This was Bokuto. He could be close to Bokuto, he would do _anything_ for Bokuto.

He managed to suck in a pathetic breath and then he pressed his lips against Bokuto’s mouth. It was brief, chaste, but Akaashi felt his entire body burn with it. 

He pulled away and took a quick step back, hand moving to cover his mouth.

Bokuto was staring, his face as red as Akaashi’s. 

“I, umm…” said Akaashi, the words not quite threading together. “I’m going to, uh… go to the bathroom. Then we can eat.”

He turned and retreated, needing a moment to himself to think about what he’d just done.

Before he could lock himself in the bathroom Bokuto’s voice caught him and he paused, looking over his shoulder.

“Akaashi?” said Bokuto. “You know I love you, right?”

His tone was conversational, as if he was confirming an already known fact, as if it wasn’t the first time he’d ever said it.

Akaashi bit his lip to keep himself from grinning like an idiot.

“Yeah, Bo,” he said, turning his face away so Bokuto wouldn’t see him burst into flames. “I know.”

It was only after he’d collected himself in the bathroom that he realized he hadn’t returned the sentiment. It was obvious that he loved Bokuto. He’d probably always loved Bokuto. 

When they sat down to dinner a few minutes later, Akaashi broke apart his chopsticks and said, “You know I love you too, right?”

He kept his eyes on his food, but he felt Bokuto’s grin from across the table.

They ate in content silence, and Akaashi wondered how much affection he could possibly hold in his heart until it simply exploded. 

  
  
  
Things progressed slowly, but Bokuto never expressed even a hint of impatience with the pace of their relationship. He never pushed and never acted as if what they had wasn’t enough. After the first kiss Akaashi was anxious that Bokuto would expect it more often, but he never gave any indication that he was even thinking about it. 

When Akaashi did it again a month later, and again a couple of weeks after that, and finally worked up the nerve to glide his tongue over Bokuto’s lip a few days later, Bokuto looked as if he was the luckiest man alive every single time. 

Akaashi still didn’t know why Bokuto was so fond of him, but he’d never been more pleased about anything in his entire life. 

He honestly didn’t know where he’d be without Bokuto; probably locked up in his apartment, living off of takeout and leaving only when he ran out of clean laundry. 

Bokuto was everything to him; _everything_. 

So when he insinuated that he wanted to potentially try something a little more intimate, he was surprised when Bokuto turned him down.

“We don’t have to do that,” said Bokuto. He spoke quietly because it was obvious that the conversation was making Akaashi anxious. “I told you it doesn’t matter to me. I’m happy just like we are.”

“Well yeah, but… but you like sex,” said Akaashi dumbly. “I know you slept with those girls in college, and that one guy you met at the club, and-”

“That was just sex,” said Bokuto, shrugging it off as if it meant nothing at all. “It was fun I guess, but it’s not that important. If I get too worked up I can take care of it myself, you know?”

Akaashi did know. He understood the concept of self-relief quite well. His own routine still typically included whimpering Bokuto’s name in the shower while he worked himself to completion.

“I know that,” said Akaashi. He felt his face burning, which was inevitable. He’d never had this conversation before and it was more than a little embarrassing. “I want to try it anyway, though. I think I can do it if I just… If you just let me do it and you don’t touch me. I think I can.”

“You don’t have to do this just for me,” Bokuto said. His arched brows pulled together, face serious. “I don’t want you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable, ‘Kaashi. You know that.”

“I know. I want to do it, Bo. Really. Just let me try?”

That conversation ended with Bokuto sitting on the edge of his bed, pants discarded, and Akaashi kneeling in front of him in the floor. Akaashi had one hand on Bokuto’s thigh and the other on his dick, working him at a steady pace and marveling at the sensation of skin gliding against skin. It didn’t take Bokuto very long at all to finish, and Akaashi chalked that up to the long-term sexual frustration of having a physically distant boyfriend. He felt a pang of guilt, but it dissipated quickly when Bokuto sat up on his elbows and offered him a spent smile paired with genuine praise. 

Before Akaashi even made it into the bathroom to take care of his own throbbing problem, he was already thinking he couldn’t wait to try it again. 

  
  
  
Six months later, almost exactly four years since they ran into each other at university, Bokuto was on his back in the middle of Akaashi’s bed, stripped of everything except his socks. 

Akaashi knelt over him, his knees planted on either side of Bokuto’s hips, hovering without actually touching him. He took deep, steadying breaths, hands curled into the sheets like claws. 

Bokuto watched him with that familiar unrelenting patience. “Akaashi, you don’t have to-”

“Shut up.”

He closed his eyes and took a breath. It didn’t feel his lungs completely, but he wasn’t becoming oxygen deprived just yet, either. 

“I just don’t want you to feel like I’m pressuring you into this,” said Bokuto. He’d already said something similar at least six times since Akaashi had coaxed him onto the bed.

“You’ve never pressured me to do a single thing in my entire life,” said Akaashi. He opened his eyes and looked at Bokuto. “You do want to do this, right? I’m not the one pressuring you?”

“No, no, of course I do,” he said quickly. “I mean, I…” He trailed off, gaze trailing down, to where Akaashi hovered over him. Judging from his physical state, it appeared that Bokuto very much wanted to do this.

Akaashi had prepared himself in the bathroom before Bokuto had even arrived. He knew if he waited he would be more likely to back out, and this was something he needed to do. Not just for Bokuto, but for himself, too. To prove that he could be in a real relationship. To prove that he was a different person than he’d been four years ago. 

To prove that he could do this just like everyone else, that he could be normal.

He took another breath and gripped Bokuto’s dick, keeping it steady. Bokuto gasped beneath him and tried not to move. 

Slowly, very slowly, Akaashi lowered himself onto Bokuto, wincing at the intrusion but not stopping until he’d sunk as far as he could go. 

The wires were tight but he could still breathe a little. He moved his hips in a slow circle, trying to stretch himself more, and Bokuto groaned beneath him.

“Holy fuck, Akaashi.” Bokuto fought against the urge to buck his hips. He clenched his fists tightly in his own hair to stop himself from reaching for Akaashi. “Oh my god, that’s fucking amazing, oh my _god_ …”

“I haven’t even done anything yet,” said Akaashi, the words tight. He closed his eyes and tried to focus, to keep himself together. “Give me a minute.”

“Yeah, sure. Take your time, whatever you need, oh my _god_.”

Akaashi smiled a little despite himself. When he’d adjusted he started moving, slow rolls of his hips at first, evolving into a steady grind that had Bokuto twitching beneath him.

“’Kaashi,” he panted, “has anyone ever told you how- how pretty you are?”

Akaashi realized he’d closed his eyes. When he opened them it was to the sight of Bokuto looking absolutely wrecked. His hair was a disaster, still being ruined by his own clenching fingers. His pupils were blown wide, mouth hanging open as he sucked in air. 

It was the most beautiful thing Akaashi had ever seen.

“Only you,” said Akaashi, trying to keep himself composed. “Only all the time.”

“’Cause it’s true,” said Bokuto. He threw his head back with a moan as Akaashi gave a particularly sharp jolt of his hips. “You’re just so – so fucking pretty. You don’t even know. I love you, ‘Kaashi. _Fuck_ , I love you so much.”

Akaashi already knew that – he’d been told on a number of occasions, more than he could count – but hearing it then, in such a new, intimate situation, made a flare of heat curl in his groin. He bit down on his own moan as he sank even more deeply onto Bokuto and was struck by an intense jolt of sensation. 

He must have made a sound. He was too distracted to notice, but Bokuto did.

“Shit, do that again,” he said, raising his head a little to better view Akaashi. 

Akaashi did. He bounced his hips, slammed down onto Bokuto, and their voices rose in dual moans of melodic pleasure. For a while he forgot that he wasn’t supposed to do this, that he wasn’t supposed to touch someone like this. He forgot about the wires around his chest, which weren’t as tight as they should have been. He forgot that he’d ever been different and thought only of Bokuto as he drove them closer to satisfaction. 

“’Kaashi,” gasped Bokuto, and he was so far gone that it was a miracle he was even speaking. “I’m gonna – fuck – if you’re gonna move, then-”

“Just do it,” said Akaashi. His breath was short, but it wasn’t from anxiety. “Come on, Bo, just do it.”

Bokuto threw his head back and moaned Akaashi’s name as he came, yanking on his hair, biting hard on his lower lip until Akaashi feared it would bleed. Akaashi kept riding him through it, feeling himself burn even more hotly from the sight of Bokuto unraveling.

Akaashi had never came in front of Bokuto. He’d always slunk off to the bathroom to take care of himself, almost as if he was doing something shameful. Now he was so far gone that leaving the room didn’t even cross his mind as he pumped himself to climax, unaware of the noises spilling from his mouth, most of which contained some syllable of _Bokuto_. 

The only thing that kept him from collapsing directly on top of Bokuto, and into the strings of his own come, was the fleeting thought of all that skin touching him at the same time. He’d already pushed himself beyond his limits. He needed a moment to collect himself.

With extreme effort and shaking legs he lifted himself off of Bokuto and sank onto the opposite side of the bed, pushing a handful of sweaty hair off of his forehead. 

For a moment the silence between them was broken only by heavy breaths. Akaashi kept his wrist over his eyes, blocking the light that he’d chosen to leave on so he could watch Bokuto properly. 

Bokuto shuffled around and fumbled for the box of tissues just within arm’s-reach. He wiped himself off and then rolled onto his side to study Akaashi. 

“Hey,” he said, voice a soft rasp. He waited for Akaashi to look at him before he continued. “You alright?”

Akaashi nodded. “Yeah, I’m good. You?”

Bokuto beamed. “I’m great. Like, really great. Like, probably never been better in my life.”

Akaashi laughed once, then covered his eyes again. “Was that… was it okay? You know I’ve never done it before, so if I need to do something different…”

“Akaashi, you’re the smartest person I know. Don’t say such dumb things.” He was still grinning; Akaashi could hear it in his voice. “That was amazing. The best. And no, I’m not just saying that. Like, it’s amazing you could do that. With all the touching and stuff, you know? I’m so proud of you, ‘Kaashi.”

Bokuto wasn’t exactly an artist when it came to verbal articulation, but he made his point, and Akaashi swallowed, hard. 

He couldn’t cry after sex. That was just pathetic. Bokuto would worry that he was upset about something, when he’d really never been more content in his life.

He wriggled closer, hesitating just inside Bokuto’s personal space. Then, carefully, he raised Bokuto’s arm and rested his face on his chest. It was firm against Akaashi’s cheek, evidence of many hours spent at the gym with Kuroo. Akaashi pressed a fingertip against Bokuto’s stomach, which was ridged with muscle. 

“Will you… hold me?” said Akaashi, tentatively. It was something he never thought he’d ask for, and he was still uncertain. “Just a little?”

“You sure?”

Akaashi nodded against Bokuto’s chest. His skin smelled like sweat and sex and a faint trace of the expensive cologne Kenma had bought him for his last birthday that made Akaashi swoon.

Carefully, and with exaggerated slowness, Bokuto curled his arm around Akaashi’s shoulders, enfolding him. His arm was a solid, warm weight against Akaashi’s back. 

Akaashi held his breath for a moment, his muscles stiffening on impulse. He felt Bokuto start to retract but he shook his head, denying him. He just kept breathing, trying to loosen the wires around his chest, focusing on the smell and texture and _presence_ of Bokuto.

After a few moments he found himself relaxing into the half-embrace, almost comforted by the contact. 

He was still a work in progress, but he was improving.

He felt Bokuto’s breath ruffle his hair. 

“You’re the best, ‘Kaashi.”

It was a nice sentiment, and Akaashi appreciated it, but it wasn’t true.

It wasn’t true because he knew for certain that Bokuto was the best, and he always had been, and for the rest of Akaashi’s life, he always would be. 

That night they shared the bed, and Akaashi slept soundly.


End file.
